I waited, listening to the hold music, my mind racing. My husband emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing out like stage smoke. “What’s up? You look pale,” he said, toweling his hair.
“Your parents’ gift… it’s not just money,” I replied, motioning to the paper on the bed. He picked it up, frowning as he read.
“This is a bit much,” he admitted, dropping the paper back on the bed. “I didn’t know they’d do this. They said it was just a gift.”
“A trust fund is more than a gift,” I murmured, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. The receptionist came back on the line.
“Mr. Wilson is in a meeting, but he can return your call tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow,” I echoed, trying to mask my frustration. “Thank you.”
My husband sat next to me, staring at the paper. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
As he spoke, I realized this wasn’t just about money. This was about control, about strings attached to something that was supposed to be ours. The gift was a tether, and I needed to know what it meant for our future.
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